Back to the ‘70s: My Life as the Trouble-Maker's Bride

Mr. Longlife had never been this furious in his life. He'd watched Stuart grow up. He remembered how confused everyone had been when the boy, who wasn't known to be mischievous, had once run off into the mountains and come back bloodied, dragging a dead wolf.

Stuart had been seven or eight, his face covered in blood, his clothes in tatters—and still holding that wolf.

Most grown men couldn't have managed it.

And yet Grace had whipped him with a bamboo stick, furious that he'd torn his clothes.

Those were hard times. No one could worry about other people's children. So no one questioned what had happened.

Not long after that, Richard began calling Stuart a wolf cub. He even consulted the village scholar, who declared the boy cursed, destined to bring ruin to his parents. They insisted on changing his name from Hopewell Longlife to Stuart.

Now, remembering all this, Mr. Longlife's fury flared again. He slammed the table. "You call yourself a father? If I were Hopewell, I'd never step foot in your house again. And after all he's done for you? You deserve nothing. Eat dirt!"

Richard didn't dare shout back. He muttered, "He's just saying all this because he doesn't want to send money."

Mr. Longlife scoffed. "Bullshit. We've watched him grow up. We know the kind of man he is. You two were never kind to him—not once."

Great-Uncle sighed. "Richard, he's a good child. You two were the ones who twisted your hearts. Don't blame him for walking away."

Annette had finished eating by now. Seeing Grace, Clara, and Aunt Spring huddled under the window to eavesdrop, she joined them, crouching by the sill.

She arrived just in time to hear Mr. Longlife reading the agreement aloud. Her eyes widened. This wasn't just a family split—it was a severance.

And then came Stuart's calm voice, recounting how Grace and Richard had tried to kill him as a child.

Annette froze. Then her expression shifted—her eyes blazing like a tiny fire-breathing dragon—as she stared at Grace.

All that… because he ate too much?

Grace shrank under her gaze, scooting sideways instinctively.

Annette's fists clenched. Then, with no more warning than a twitch, she stood up and kicked Grace squarely in the backside.

Grace yelped, stumbling forward into the dirt with a dramatic grunt. Before she could get up, Annette kicked her again, harder.

Aunt Spring was still stunned, unsure whether to intervene or cheer.

Stuart heard the commotion and rushed outside. He arrived to find Annette—small, furious, and full of fire—still landing blows.

He quickly grabbed her wrist, gently pulling her away.

Grace howled, clutching her back. "You're trying to kill me! Oh, my waist!"

Annette glared. "If murder weren't illegal, you'd be dead already. You're not even human—you're worse than a beast!"

Then she spun toward Stuart, eyes still blazing. "They tried to kill you! And you've been sending them money all these years? Are you sick in the head?!"

If it were her, she wouldn't even spit in their direction, much less send a single cent.

Stuart looked at her flushed, angry face and felt something shift inside. This was the first time anyone had ever stood up for him without conditions.

His voice was quiet. "I won't anymore."

Annette turned back to Grace, seething. "They should pay back every damn cent he gave them. You're the real ungrateful leeches!"

Mr. Longlife and the other elders came out just in time to hear that. None of them stepped in.

Outside, villagers had already gathered. Word of the family split had spread like wildfire.

Great-Uncle finally spoke. "Hopewell, take your wife and come stay at my place."

After a blowout like this, there was no staying in that house.

Stuart took Annette's wrist. "Let's go."

Annette gave Grace one final kick before following him inside to gather their things.

Mr. Longlife waited until they were gone, then glared at Grace, still wailing on the ground. "That's enough crying. Do you hear yourself? After everything he's done for you—if you so much as make a fuss, I'll report you and have you both arrested."

He stormed off.

Grace went silent, trembling.

Annette was still fuming when they reached Great-Uncle's house. The more she thought about how Stuart had been used and abused, the angrier she got.

Great-Aunt bustled out. "Hopewell! Annette! Come in, sit, sit!"

She hurried to pour tea.

Great-Uncle sighed. "Maybe it's for the best. You've endured too much."

Stuart shook his head. "They weren't wrong. They gave me life. That's something."

Great-Aunt brought over the tea and, after hearing the full story, cursed Richard and Grace. "They've always been greedy and lazy. Didn't they give away a daughter before Hopewell? That tells you everything."

Annette, having never known true hunger, couldn't understand such cruelty. "Then don't have children. If you won't feed them, what right do you have to be parents?"

Great-Aunt gave a small smile. "Takes all kinds to make a world, dear."

She sighed again. "Those two will regret it one day."

Great-Uncle waved a hand. "Enough about them. Hopewell, focus on your work. As long as I'm around, they won't dare cause trouble."

Stuart shook his head. "They wouldn't dare."

He knew them well—greedy cowards, all bark and no bite.

Annette puffed out her cheeks. Then, noticing the dried blood on Stuart's forehead, she scowled. "Let me treat that. Honestly, you didn't even dodge? If it were me, I'd have hurled that glass right back."

A flicker of amusement danced in Stuart's eyes, gone in a blink—like a firework.

And when he smiled, soft and rare, it made the whole world quiet.

Annette blinked, stunned.

Then she swallowed.